The New Rule: (The Casual Rule 2) (26 page)

I place my hand over my mouth and close my eyes. Tears fall in a steady stream down my cheeks. My mother is crying, my sisters are crying. I hear Allie sniffling behind me. My mom taps my arm with her hand, offering a stolen tissue and some comfort.

I nod my head minutely and mouth “Thanks.” I take the tissue from her and wipe my eyes, leaning my head on her shoulder.

~o0o~

Once the eulogy concludes, the room begins to empty out. Ben is lost in a sea of people. I try to wade through, but the line is too dense. I wait with my family and friends alongside me. While we’re in line, I read the cards on the floral arrangements as I make my way to Ben. I notice one is from Wisteria Hill Publishing and another from Vivian and her husband Jim, personally. And that makes me tear up again.

I’m about three people away from finally reaching Ben when I spot one of the pictures in the silver frames is of Ben, Elizabitch, and their grandparents at Wollman Rink. He had to be seven, maybe eight. He was so adorable. And I tear up again.

Finally, I reach Ben. He smiles and lets out a small chuckle.

“You’re a crying mess,” he teases.

“It’s your fault,” I sniffle out. “The eulogy was beautiful. Your grandmother would be so proud of you.” I wrap my arms around him and hug him tight. “I’m so proud of you.”

He smiles and hugs me back. “I’m sorry; I have to keep this moving. Stay with me.”

I nod, still sniffling away. These people are probably wondering who the blubbering idiot standing next to this handsome, well-spoken man is.

After Ben endures death-grip hug after death-grip hug from all the Conti women and handshakes from my brothers and brother-in-laws, my mother grabs his arm.

“Did you eat today?” she asks him.

“I had a bite earlier.”

She shakes her head disapprovingly. “Not enough. You need your strength. I made you a pepper and egg sandwich. It’s in a cooler in the car.” She turns her head to my father. “Frank, get the sandwich for Ben.”

“Rose, that’s not necessary,” Ben assures her.

“Nonsense. Frank, the car,” she calls out.

“Mom, please stop,” I beg, my face heating up.

Food is my family’s way of expressing love. In good times, it’s a source of celebration. In bad times, comfort. This is my mother’s way of showing she loves you. And she’s going to love you whether you’re hungry or not.

“You know what—a sandwich sounds good. Thank you,” Ben says. I’m impressed that even in his grief and dealing with all this around him, he has the frame of mind to placate and manage my mother perfectly.

“Good.” She pats his chest, nodding in approval, and moves on.

“Sorry about that,” I tell him.

“She means well. It’s fine,” he says.

Ben continues shaking hands and thanking those who came, occasionally introducing me. I smile and play the dutiful girlfriend, all the while watching him in amazement. It’s astounding how well he’s dealing with all this. Maybe, like he said, he really
is
okay.

My mother comes from out of nowhere, grabs my arm and hands me a sandwich wrapped in aluminum foil.

“Make sure he eats this,” she says.

“Okay. He’s doing so well for such a difficult day… don’t you think?”

“Juju, listen carefully to what I’m about to tell you. This is the easy part. What comes next is the hard part.”

“Oh, there’s no burial.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. It’s the going on from here that’s hard. Appearances can be deceiving. That eulogy shows how close he was to his grandmother. Right now, he’s stunned. I doubt her death has fully registered yet. After this funeral business is done, and life quiets down, reality will set in, and he’ll have to learn to live without her.”

“But he…”

She stops me mid-sentence. “It’s going to get hard before it gets easy. Just be prepared. Ben will be okay. He has a good head on his shoulders. He loves
you
, after all. He’ll just need some time. Time to process, accept, and grieve. You be strong for him. Just be there when all this catches up with him.”

I nod. “I will. Thanks, Mom.” I give her a quick hug and rejoin Ben at his side.

My mother may be a petty thief, but she’s also an exceptionally wise woman.

~o0o~

My family, friends, and the last of the remaining visitors have left.

“I do hope to see you again under better circumstances,” Beverly says to me. That was actually a nice thing to say. Is she finally warming up to me?

“I’d like that,” I say… and I almost mean it.

“Let’s go, Beverly. I have work to catch up on,” Dick says, impatiently looking down at his Rolex. “Ben, we’ll continue our conversation tomorrow. Julia, have a good evening.”

“Thank you. And once again, I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” he says.

Ben shakes his hand and kisses his mother’s cheek then turns to the Bitch Twins and Stuart.

“Are you staying in Manhattan tonight?” he asks.

“No, we’re going back to Connecticut,” Elizabitch answers.

“I’m staying in Manhattan,” Cam-eel says, flipping her long brown hair over her shoulder.

No shit… you live in Manhattan… Along with a million and a half other residents.

Ben nods, hugging his sister and shaking Stuart’s hand.

Camille wraps her arms around him. “Take care of yourself, Ben. Do you need anything? I can come to your place if you want to talk… or anything else you might… want,” she purrs suggestively.

The Duchess of Delusion is alive, well, and offering herself to my boyfriend in front of me, his sister, his brother-in-law, and his dead grandmother.

Where’s that magician Allie was talking about? I have someone I’d like him to make disappear.

Ben glares at Cam-eel incredulously, opens his mouth, and shuts it again. He exhales a short breath. “My
girlfriend
will be with me tonight,” he says in a sharp tone. He snakes his arm around my waist and pulls me close to his side.

He’s annoyed by her inappropriate invitation. I didn’t miss it and judging by Cam-eel’s slumped shoulders and red face, she didn’t miss it either.

A victorious feeling of satisfaction fills me.

Cam-asshole and Elizabitch politely say goodbye to me and Ben. Stuart shakes my hand with a secret smile. He loves that she was finally put in her place, and he’s having a hard time hiding it. I return his secret smile and nod subtly.

Once they’re gone, it’s just me, Ben, and the distant voices of the
funeral director and his assistant.

“Would you like to be alone with her?” I ask.

“For a minute,” he says quietly.

“Okay, take all the time you need.” I kiss his cheek, walk out of the room with my mom’s sandwich and Emma’s card in hand. I sit on a couch in the lobby, far away from the doors to the visitation room. This is the last time he will physically see her. He deserves privacy.

After about ten minutes, he walks out of the room. I stand from the couch and walk over to him.

“Are you alright?” I ask.

He nods, saying nothing.

“Okay. Let’s go home.” I hook my arm around his, and we leave.

Chapter 15

“Hi,” he says, waving me into his apartment. He’s barefoot and unshaven in a pair of sweats and a worn-out Columbia University T-shirt. His good looks are effortless, even like that. He is a beautiful, beautiful man. If it weren’t for the dark circles under his eyes, you’d think he hadn’t a care in the world.

“I brought in a special dinner for my guy.” I hold up a large paper bag and kiss his cheek.

“Emilio’s Café. You didn’t have to stop.”

“We haven’t been there in a while. I thought you’d enjoy some tapas from your favorite place,” I say as Ben takes the bag from my hand.

“
Our
favorite place,” he corrects. “Thanks for picking up dinner.”

“It was no problem… although the waitstaff looked disappointed when I showed up without you.”

“Why would they care?”

“Come on, Ben. You had to notice your fan club gawking at you in the corner of the room every time we eat there. I’m completely invisible to the waitstaff when you’re with me.”

“You’re imagining things,” he dismisses.

“If you say so.” I roll my eyes and follow Ben into the kitchen. “Oh, and the hostess, Kimberly, told me to tell you… Wait, I want to do it exactly the way she did.” I stop and turn to him. He looks at me, his brow furrowed, but I think he’s amused. Summoning up my best Marilyn Monroe impersonation, I exaggerate my eyelash batting, twirl a few strands of hair around my finger and stick out my chest. “Hi, Mr. Martin,” I breathe.

He shakes his head, and a tiny smile twitches up from the side of his mouth. That’s the first hint of a smile I’ve seen on Ben in days. And although it’s barely noticeable, I’ll take it. I’ve missed his smile.

“I’ll take care of dinner. Why don’t you relax?” I ask.

“You can stop coddling me.” His lips press together. I think I’m annoying him.

“I’m not coddling you. I’m getting dinner for you,” I insist. I remove five small containers out of the bag and put them on the counter.

He places his hand on top of mine. I look up at him.

“I’m okay, Julia.”

“I know,” I lie. He’s not okay. Far from it. He’s distant and quiet. Really quiet. “Coffee table or dining room?” I ask.

“Dining room.”

“Alright.” My heart sinks. The small, intimate things that I used to take for granted, like eating dinner on the floor just to be close to each other, have practically vanished. We’re more formal, politely strained. It doesn’t feel like us. Not lately.

I haven’t said anything about it, expressed my concern, or complained. I’m hoping in time things will go back to normal—our normal.

I know he’s internalizing his feelings, his grief, the pressures he’s under, and he needs to work things out, but I hurt watching him hurt. He’s changing before my eyes.

I expected his pain to roar. But it doesn’t. It simmers and whispers, but I still hear it. I wish I could steal it from him when he’s not looking, put it in a box, and bury it.

He’s lost his anchor, and now he’s drifting. I’m afraid he’s going to drown. I’d throw him a rope and pull him in if I knew what rope to use… or where exactly to throw it.

I’m scared for him. I’m scared for us.

I bring two plates and utensils to the dining room table. There are a few messy piles of computer print-outs spread out. I gather them up, peeking at what’s written on them. It looks like a list of classes and brokerage testing.

Ben walks in and sees me holding the papers with a puzzled look on my face.

“My father thought it would be a good idea to keep my brokerage license active. There are seminars and continuing education courses I’m required to take.”

“Since when do you listen to your father?”

“When it’s good advice,” he snaps.

Apparently, I hit a nerve. Ben has told me time and time again that he has no interest working at his father’s firm or brokering at all. He hated it. I back off the topic and move the papers to the side of the table.

I walk back to the kitchen and grab a platter from the cabinet. Arranging the tapas so the dish looks pretty… well, prettier than the Chinese food we ate out of cartons yesterday. I place it on the dining room table then take a seat.

“Thanks again for dinner,” he says, piling a few tapas on his plate. Normally, Ben would have teased me about finally working up the courage to order from the menu. He usually does the ordering at Emilio’s. I have too hard of a time deciding what to order, there are too many choices.

Except for the sangria—I learned to order that before my ass hit the chair.

Ben sits across from me, lost in his thoughts. I plate my dinner and try for some small talk.

“So, have you done any writing today?” I ask.

“No. I stared at a blank document for hours. It gave me a fucking headache.”

Great. There’s another deadline coming up. Vivian is going to ask me about the progress of his book, she is the taskmaster after all. And I’m going to have to tell her that he’s nowhere near where he’s supposed to be.

The girlfriend part of me wants to tell him not to worry about it, get to it when he gets to it. I know he’s going through a difficult time, and the creative process is dependant on your mood and where your head is at.

The editor in me, who has her own boss to answer to, wants to smack him upside the head and tell him to get his act together. The world doesn’t stop and work doesn’t halt even if he has personal issues to deal with.

I’m in the shittiest of shitty positions.

I opt for the girlfriend position. That’s where my heart is. I’ve learned when it comes to Ben—I’ll always follow my heart.

“If you want, I could talk to Vivian about getting an extension,” I offer.

”No, I don’t want an extension,” he snaps, glaring at me.

I’m dropping the subject. This is clearly a touchy topic.

“I’m sure it’ll come to you. Eventually.”

He nods stuffing a broken-off piece of bread in his mouth.

The remainder of our dinner conversation is nonexistent. I hate the silence—the long, uncomfortable silence. It’s not us. Ben could say the most mundane things, but somehow he spins it until it’s charming. Well, at least to me it is. I miss it. I miss our verbal sparring, our teasing, laughing together, dirty talk, and the romantic ways he tells me he loves me.

I miss us.

Even when we’re quiet, there was always a charge between us. This feels like a blackout. I adored when he looked at me with love in his eyes—and I loved when he looked at me like I was his plaything. I don’t know what he thinks when he looks at me anymore. He’s completely unreadable.

I sneak a quick peek at him. His grief stole the light right out of his eyes. I know he’s broken. And I don’t have a clue how to fix him. The barriers are up. The more he surrenders to his pain, the less he shows it. The less he shows anything. Pain, anger… even love.

He’s picking at his plate and just staring off at nothing. I can’t make out anything he’s focusing on, maybe the wall or the light fixture behind me. He’s certainly not focusing on me.